


Shock Of A Lifetime

by afteriwake



Series: How You Got The Girl [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:45:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4540287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is brought out of deep cover in Russia by his brother to be informed of his impending fatherhood, and he tries to find out from Mycroft just what Irene expects from him while assuring his brother that he will not repeat their father’s mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shock Of A Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> Final time jump! This is three months (give or take) after "Late," putting Irene at just around five months pregnant. And at the next fic we'll start more actively rewriting series 3. Many thanks to **Izod** for giving me the idea in another series of having Moriarty be Sherlock's brother. I felt it would work quite well here.

He just wanted to sleep. He hadn’t eaten in days, hadn’t sleep in nearly as long…he was lucky he’d trained himself to deal with conditions like that long ago or else he would have been delirious. But at the very least he had gotten a hot shower and warm clothing. It wasn’t the best of clothing but it was the most he could hope for before he was to be smuggled back to London. A pair of scissors had been produced for him and Anthea had hacked off most of the straggly hair and beard in the car that had transported him from where he was being held captive to the relative safety of the bolt hole Mycroft had found for them. A shave and a real haircut would have to wait, but if he could just sleep, that would solve so many problems.

Once they were as safe as they could be, Mycroft sat at one end of the table in the kitchen area and Sherlock at the other. Anthea served them both soup, and Sherlock realized if he didn’t eat something now his stomach would gnaw on itself before it let him sleep. He picked up the spoon and forced himself not to wolf it down. He did eat quickly, though, and after noticing he was done Mycroft pushed his own bowl towards his brother. “You did take ghastly care of yourself,” he said.

“Unfortunately,” Sherlock said in reply, pulling the second bowl of soup closer. “And it was all for naught, it seems.” Since he had food in his stomach he could afford to eat more slowly this time. “So what was so important you pulled me away from this very deep undercover case?”

Mycroft reached into the coat he was wearing and pulled something out, putting it on the table and sliding it towards him. At first he thought it was a photograph of whoever was causing his brother problems, but then he realized it wasn’t really a photograph at all. It was a sonogram. He looked up at his brother, his brows slightly furrowed. “Congratulations, Sherlock. You’re having a son.”

He leaned back into the seat slowly, staring at the sonogram. Paris had been…five months ago? Maybe six? He was fairly sure it hadn't been six months ago just yet. It had been one of the last places he had been before he had been shipped off to Russia. He had indeed held tight to memories of the twenty-four hours he had spent with Irene while he had been gone. It had been one of the few times he had felt…wanted, for something more than his intellect, for his ability to solve problems. He had felt alive. He had felt _normal_ for a brief, shining moment.

But they hadn’t been careful. He hadn’t even thought to ask, he’d just let himself get carried away by the moment, by the sense of pleasure and by the fact that he had wanted her very much. It had been a feeling that had been foreign to him for so long that he wanted to revel in it while he felt it again in case it went away. And now, because of that, there were unforeseen consequences. “Are they safe?” he asked quietly.

Mycroft nodded. “Yes. Various arrangements have been made to ensure Irene’s safety. The work you’ve done eradicating Moriarty’s network has done quite a bit at clearing up Miss Adler’s problems. If you chose to acknowledge this child as yours he will be safe.”

Sherlock looked at his brother for a long moment. “What do you mean, _if_ I choose to acknowledge the child?” he asked, anger tingeing his voice. “Do you think I’m just going to ignore the fact I fathered a son? Do you think I’m going to leave him to fend on his own?” He clenched his fist for a moment but then unclenched it when he realized he might damage the sonogram. “I’m not our father, Mycroft.”

“I know,” Mycroft said quietly, looking down. “I did not think you would want to repeat his mistake.”

“His mistake is the reason we’re in this mess in the first place,” Sherlock said bitterly, the familiar anger bubbling up. Ever since Mycroft had told him the ugly truth of what Moriarty had said while he was in captivity, ever since the entire story had been confirmed through DNA tests run on their father at Mycroft’s insistence, Sherlock had just decided he didn’t want to think about the fact that his greatest enemy was family. Granted James Moriarty had been an unknown half-brother, but the fact they shared fifty percent of the same DNA was something that had greatly angered Sherlock, especially when he learned more about Moriarty’s past. Sherlock didn’t want to think about how different decisions made in the whole mess long before he was born could have changed his whole life.

Sherlock shut his eyes for a moment, and then when he opened them again he looked at the sonogram. That was _his_ child, his and Irene’s. He would do his best to be a good father, if Irene even wanted him to be a part of his son’s life. He had to get used to the thought that she might not want him involved. She might only want him to know and not want him to have any involvement past that, and that was her right. “Where is she?” he asked.

“At Anthea’s home,” Mycroft said. “She’s been staying there since she returned to London three months ago while we tracked you down since you were off the grid.” He nodded to the sonogram. “She had tried to hold off on having that done until we found you and brought you back to London but her doctor insisted, so she told me she wanted you to have a copy.”

He traced the image of his son lightly, his heart feeling slightly lighter. “She wants me involved, then?”

“I’m still not entirely sure about the type of relationship the two of you have,” Mycroft said. “I don’t know whether it’s purely physical or there’s sentiment and actual caring. I doubt there’s love, but that’s my opinion. That’s for you two to sort out. But she does want you to be involved in your son’s life. And I was not going to keep you in harm’s way and deprive my nephew of his father before he ever met him.”

“Thank you for that, then,” Sherlock said. He set the sonogram down and then went back to the soup. “It’s going to be interesting going home again.”

“Interesting, dear brother, will be an understatement,” Mycroft said wryly. “Sherlock Holmes will have returned from the dead and fathered a child with the infamous Woman, reports of whose death have also been greatly exaggerated. That’s the type of story that comes along once in a blue moon.”

“I suppose the tabloid rags will have a field day,” Sherlock said thoughtfully, eating some of his soup. “But we’ll weather through, I think.”

Mycroft studied him for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, somehow I think you will.” He stood up. “Eat, and then get some rest. We’ll head back to London in the morning.”

Sherlock nodded, concentrating on the food as his brother left the table. This was a shock, but at the very least he knew that Irene and their child were safe and that she wanted him to be a part of things. He would process the rest later, but he was comforted knowing that much for now. Once he got some sleep, then he would really begin to think about things.


End file.
